Hope Miracle Sherlock Holmes
by GoldBee
Summary: John visits Sherlock's grave a month after The Fall. Some things are said. Some things are left quiet, but hope stays. Hope always stays. John's life after the death and a miracle that saves his life. One-shot.


_So this is something little that came to my mind. There might be something like that done already. All characters go to BBC, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. Spoilers for the Reichenbach Fall._

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><p>It had been 3 weeks since Sherlock died. I was becoming more and more miserable and depressed by the day. Everywhere I looked I saw him. His face, his voice,his silhouette. Everything reminded me of Sherlock Holmes. The flat was all the same. I didn't dare to touch anything. I was afraid to destroy the only physical connection I had with him. The violin was still leaning against his chair the same way as a month ago.<p>

Mrs Hudson was still grieving. So was Molly and Lestrade. No-one other cared. Not even Mycroft. Even if he did he showed no signs of it. He had been too ashamed with his actions and I was too mad at him to start the conversation.

So I was left alone. Every time I saw Mrs Hudson she would ask how I was doing. The truth? We all know how I was doing. Sleepless nights, nightmares, terrors. Pain. That is all I was feeling. Endless, bottomless devastating pain. It was time for me to see him. Once more talk to him. So I went to the only place I could think would bring me together with the Great Sherlock Holmes. His grave.

It was a dark Thursday night and the air was cold. I stepped closer to his grave and thought of the possible things that could be said. That should have been said. Oh, so many things.

I looked down at the grave stone.

"Hi, Sherlock." I said quietly. "I know you think that this is all stupid and you can't actually hear what I have to say, but I have to talk to someone. I am alone. There is no-one left for me. No-one to help me through this. Mrs Hudson is in the same state. Molly is her sad self... Lestrade, well he is trying to hide his sorrow, but I can see through it. No-one else. Just me. And now you.

"So what has happened over the past weeks?" He chuckled sadly, "I am still working at the surgery. Days drag by. I go home with a bottle of whisky. I have to drink. If I don't I break down. Smash things." He smiled sadly "See what you do to me? Even dead, you cause troubles." He now wiped a tear away with his sleeve.

"But seriously. I miss you. I wake up in the middle of the night, thinking that I heard someone play the violin. I rush into the living room to find it standing against the chair, unmoved, and the room is in dead silence. Silence. That is what has become of 221B. You didn't talk a lot, my dear Sherlock. But just enough." He took in a sharp breath and tried to stop himself from crying. He was strong. At least he tried to be. And failed. Every day.

"I can't take the silence." He stopped again to compose himself. He was starting to speak more and more quietly, losing his voice and overrunning with emotional pain.

"I stopped by the Yard last week. Saw Anderson. He looked at me and went on chatting to Donovan. I heard your name being mentioned and listened in. The bastards were talking the same rubbish the newspapers were. So I punched Anderson. Broken nose, he needed a surgery. All good day's work. Lestrade didn't even put me in the cell. Just said "Good. At least you had the guts." Good man, Lestrade is. I think you would have liked the look on Anderson's face after I told him that he was a bastard and a true idiot."

John was now letting the silent tears fall. The night was dark and there was no-one to see him.

"Please come back. For Mrs Hudson. For Molly. For Lestrade. For me." He whispered the last thing under his breath. "I can't take this any more. I got this pill, from Bart's. It's supposed to make you sleepy and then stop your heartbeat. Just like falling asleep. Should I? Should I do it? I want to. I really do. My life is worth nothing without you, Sherlock." He took out a small glass bottle with a single white tablet inside. "But not here. They would find me by your grave and think that even dead you cause problems. Somewhere else. Somewhere no-one could relate it to you."

He put the bottle back in his pocket and started to leave. "I love you. You are amazing, talented and the most extraordinary person there has ever been or will be despite all your flaws. Please come back. For everyone's sake. Please". He whispered the last word and turned around.

The air was still cold and the night was still dark. The moon was shining out the path in the graveyard and he was heading for the gate. As he closed the rusty old gate his phone buzzed in his pocked. _"Must be Mycroft asking for a meeting. Like I ever want to see him again." _he thought and ignored it. The phone buzzed again. He decided to look at it.

The message read: "Soon, my dear John, but not yet. Soon I will come back. SH "

Maybe there was hope after all. Hope, as John new was the last one to die. He put his phone back in his pocket and smiled to himself. Hope. Miracle. Sherlock Holmes.

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><p><em>So I hope you enjoyed it. I cried when I wrote it. I just had to get it out. Please review. It would mean a lot to me. Thank you so much for reading.<em>

-Maddie


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